


A Wanted Man

by spinner33



Series: CM - Close to Canon [47]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: A wee bit of bondage, Frank Discussion of Sexism, M/M, No I Don't Like Strauss, Sexual Role Play - Western AU, Sexy Picture Exchange, Sibling Teasing Sibling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2015-12-12
Packaged: 2018-05-06 08:00:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 18,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5409110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spinner33/pseuds/spinner33
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mouse and Max spend the weekend with Reid and Jack.  Hotch returns from Savannah with one thought on his mind.   Strauss is bent on preventing Reid's return to the BAU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Thin Silhouette

**Author's Note:**

> This story includes three interwoven stories: Branches Tarmac, and A Wanted Man.
> 
> No, I don't like Strauss. But I think when she was "Super Bitch" Strauss, she was a far more interesting character.

“Pretty quiet shift?” Honeywell asked.

“Boring as hell. Doc hasn’t so much as jaywalked all day,” Ensign James complained as he gazed towards the country road which bisected and bordered the back of Dr. Reid’s property. 

In spring and summer and fall, the two-lane dirt path was flanked by shrubs and bushes and towering trees. The path cut through Reid's property and back around the forest area. The path joined with another back road, one which led away into horse farms and larger forests. The main road in front of the house led from the driveway towards the city, and the highway in the distance. In late winter, the plants along the driveway and the path weren’t leafy and bright. The bare branches and twigs were like naked broomsticks, stark against the pale blue backdrop.

Dr. Reid was walking slowly: one, two, three, one, two, three. He was headed towards the forest not the house. He cut a very thin silhouette against the trees and shrubs and late day sky. It was a delicate dance of legs and cane, made even more so by the fact that Jack Hotchner was walking by his side. Jack was never in one place for very long—he would run in front of Reid, behind him, to one side and then the other. He pushed Reid along, propped him up, nudged at him continuously. Jack would dart away and run back, bring Reid samples of plants or curious things to identify. Honeywell was surprised that the doctor and the little boy would be outside in early January, but the winter had been very mild indeed, requiring no more than a light jacket. 

A dark car rolled from the main road into the long driveway, making both guards turn and look. Before the car had even stopped, a thin figure with short dark hair darted out a rear passenger door and flew up the driveway, past the garage, past the barn, down the dirt road. The young girl hadn’t seen, or perhaps hadn't registered, the two figures standing there beside the barn. 

“Who is that?” Honeywell asked. 

“Spaulding didn’t tell you about Satan’s Little Handmaiden?” James questioned. “That’s Doc’s daughter, Mouse. Katherine. Ekaterina. Whatever she wants to be called today.” 

“Oh, the spy’s daughter. Katherine Korsakova. Yes, Miles mentioned her in his notes.” 

“Word of advice. Don’t bring up the spy topic. Some folks are a bit touchy on the topic,” James murmured. 

“She’s gonna knock him over,” Honeywell winced. 

“He’ll be fine,” James grinned. 

The Jaguar in the driveway turned off. A huge, muscular man stepped out, pocketing his keys. He was muttering to someone in the car, and he was not happy. He raised a hand in greeting towards James, and James gave the same kind of discrete wave back. 

There was a shout and a squeal as Mouse collided with Dr. Reid. Honeywell cringed and made a face as Reid went down in the dirt, and Mouse clambered around him to hug him. It was like being mauled by an excited puppy. Jack was trying to help Reid back to his feet. Honeywell wondered if he’d better go see if Dr. Reid was all right. 

A middle-aged blonde woman popped out of the front passenger seat of the Jaguar, shouting at the girl in Russian.

“MYSHKA! Bey-reech-suh!! Be careful!” she warned, her voice carrying for miles. The woman stood on the porch as the muscular man headed for the figures on the dirt road. Honeywell studied the woman. She didn’t look intimidating or frankly even dangerous. She reminded him of a teacher he had had once. She had an utterly forgettable face. 

“Who’s that?” Honeywell asked James. 

“Aye. That would be Satan,” the ensign chuckle before striding towards the house. “Captain,” he nodded to the muscular fellow. 

“Ensign,” the muscular man nodded back cordially. When James walked up the steps to greet the woman who stood there, Honeywell couldn’t decide if his greeting had been “Ma’am” or “Major”, only that the ensign had included a salute.


	2. A Vase of Flowers

“Crocus and hawthorn, to adorn the marriage bed. White lilies, a symbol of the resurrection. Orange blossoms, a symbol for fertility. Tulips – red and pink – symbols of the truest love. The red rose of desire. The white rose of innocence.” 

Mouse was standing by the dining room table, tenderly touching each of the blossoms as she spoke, her eyes darting back and forth between Reid and Korsakova as they spoke softly to one another in the kitchen. 

“They got married yesterday. It was a surprise,” Jack reported happily. Mouse nodded, pointing to the card.

“So I see,” she whispered. 

“Dr. Blake sent the flowers,” Jack added. 

“Who is Dr. Blake?” 

“A friend of Papa’s. She works with Daddy. I helped pick out their rings,” Jack smiled.

“Did you?” Mouse smiled back at him, bopping him gently on the nose with one of the long-stemmed lilies. 

“Be careful. She is raising money for a trip to California,” Korsakova said to Reid. 

“What kind. Of trip?” Reid asked. Yulia was dusting off Spencer’s shoulders and back, murmuring to herself about the condition of his favorite big sweater. 

“Botany Club,” Korsakova replied. “They want to go to the Sequoia National Forest. Do not let her hit you up for money. The children are supposed to sell magazines to raise funds. Do not indulge her. I have already donated towards the trip fund, but I want Mouse to earn the money on her own. It will make her appreciate the trip more. Do not give her money outright.” 

“Understood,” Reid nodded.

“Daddy and I went to the store, and we looked in the cases, and Daddy said he didn’t know what to choose, and he asked what did I think,” Jack whispered to Mouse to get her attention again. 

“Where is Hotch?” Mouse asked. 

“He’s in Savannah. I can show you on the map upstairs.”

“What’s he doing in Georgia?” Mouse wondered, perhaps a little too loudly, because Reid and Korsakova stopped talking and looked their direction. 

“He's working. Did you see him on the news last night?” Jack asked.

“But he’s supposed to be here,” Mouse replied.

“He’ll be home soon,” Jack was certain. 

“You don’t go away that like. What about the honeymoon?” 

“Daddy is chasing bad guys,” Jack answered. “It’s very important work.”

“Your family should be important too,” Mouse chided. 

“Ekaterina, come kiss me. I have to leave,” Korsakova called out from the kitchen doorway, giving Mouse a private look which Jack couldn’t interpret. He thought it might be like the warning glance Daddy would give him when he was saying things he shouldn’t say, at least not in front of other people. Mouse scooted across the dining room and into the kitchen, giving Aunt Julie a peck on the cheek and a big hug. Jack followed, clinging to one of Korsakova’s legs for a second or two. She reached down and combed his hair with her fingers, giving him a tender smile. 

“Be safe,” Reid whispered to Korsakova. 

“It’s a linguistics conference,” she shrugged nonchalantly, reaching over to give him a hug and to hand him the bag on her shoulder. 

“Be safe,” Reid repeated, his eyes serious, his face neutral. “What is in the bag?” 

“I made you pelmeni,” Korsakova answered. “You’re so thin. You need some good food.” 

“Specibo,” Reid whispered, his eyes getting misty. Korsakova unzipped the bag, and pulled out a large blue Tupperware container packed with hundreds of tiny dumplings. 

“You boil them in a pot of slightly-salty water, until they float to the top. What you can’t eat, you can freeze. They will keep a very long time. It’s from an old Siberian recipe. Very delicious.”

“Thank you,” Reid said. 

“Why is Hotch in Savannah?” Mouse blurted, interrupting the hug that Yulia was giving Spencer. Korsakova closed her eyes and sighed before she answered.

“Your other Papa is working,” Yulia said firmly. 

“Wait. Hold on a second. He’s still ‘Hotch’, right? He’s ‘Hotch’. You’re not going to make me call him ‘Dad’, are you? He’s not my father! You are. He’s not my ‘Dad’ either. He might be your spouse, but he’s not MY DAD!” Mouse shouted at Reid. Spencer listened to her, his mouth rumpling up from a long thin line into a bunched-up jumble.

“Mouse, I’m not going. To make you do. Anything,” he promised. He silently pleaded with Korsakova for help. Yulia gave their daughter another warning look. 

“I’ll be back Sunday evening. If she gives you any grief, Max will make her mind,” Korsakova said. Volchenkov was lurking in front of the back door, gazing outside. 

“If anyone is my dad, it’s Max,” Mouse pouted. 

“Myshka,” Max scolded at the same time Reid whispered, “Katherine.” 

“I’m not calling Hotch ‘DAD’!” Mouse shouted, stomping out of the kitchen and racing upstairs to her guest room. She slammed the door, and threw herself on the bed. Something heavy hit the floor, probably her overnight bag. Reid winced as he hoped it was not her violin case. 

“Should I. Go talk to her?” Reid worried. 

“No,” Korsakova sighed. Her expression indicated that this was not an unusual occurrence. “She will come out again when she’s hungry. Warm up the pelmeni. That will attract her attention. Max is going to drive me to the airport and he will be right back. I will see you on Sunday evening. Good luck.” 

 

 


	3. Fruit of the Same Vine

“Don’t worry. They will be fine,” Max said from the driver’s seat. 

“I can’t believe Mouse wouldn’t come out of her room,” Reid huffed. “Not even for breakfast? She must be hungry.”

“Oh, you haven’t seen her at her very worst yet even. She locked herself in the kitchen at home one time. We had to order dinner out two nights in a row,” Max clucked. “She has quite the temper, Myshka does. I believe something has happened at school that she does not wish to talk about. Perhaps she will tell you.”

"What do you think happened?" Reid worried, visions of his own school horrors flashing through his brain. 

"With the start of the new semester, she announced she was dropping out of hockey entirely. Completely. The end. Finis." 

"That's not like Mouse," Reid agreed. 

Max nodded. "She will not tell either her Mama or me what has happened, but I suspect she is upset." 

“If she comes out of her room, I will do my best to determine. What happened to Mouse at school. Thank you for driving me to therapy. Sorry we had to skip the test drive.”

“I’m sorry Myshka is being so petulant.” 

“Children aren’t all sunshine and ponies,” Reid murmured. 

As they pulled out of the driveway, a Hummer followed quietly behind them. Max peered in the rearview mirror and attempted a faint smile. Reid didn’t have to turn around to know that Franklin was following them. He recognized the purr of his oversized Hummer’s engine. Reid could actually feel when the shadow of the huge vehicle as it fell over Max’s Jaguar. 

“I will give you Ivan’s information so you may contact him at your leisure. Do not let him walk all over you though,” Max offered. 

“I won’t.”

“You should take the Khotchner with you. I am afraid Ivan will eat you alive, like a hungry shark with a tiny fish.”

“I will take Hotch along,” Reid replied, glancing nervously back towards the house. It wasn’t visible at this point, but he knew where it would fall in the line of trees. Max saw him looking back again. 

“They will be fine,” Max repeated. 

“Mouse is right,” Reid said suddenly. 

“About what?” 

“What she said last night. If there is one person in her life. Who has been a father to her. It is you.”

Volchenkov faltered uncomfortably. 

“I….um….. you do not need to worry about leaving Jack alone with Mouse. Since she no longer has hockey practice in the evenings, Myshka has started to ‘sit on the babies’ for extra money. What a strange expression that is. I believe the mistress is allowing her to do this in order to earn pocket money, but also to keep her from wanting to have children of her own too soon. Khotchner’s boy will be no trouble at all, in comparison to the neighbors that she watches. There are two of them, twins, boys, seven.”

“It makes you uncomfortable to speak on this topic,” Reid surmised. Max gave a small shrug, a nervous chuckle. 

“No. It does not make me uncomfortable,” he denied. 

“It’s not that you don’t care. About Mouse. It’s that you don’t want to let yourself. Get too close. Because it’s going to be hard. When she outgrows you.”

Max stopped at the intersection, and gave Reid a very sad look. Reid continued to browse through the catalogue of magazines that Mouse had left on the dining room table. Max noted that Reid had checked off several selections already. 

“It will be very difficult, but it is not unexpected. Children grow. We cannot protect them constantly, no matter how much we might want to do so. I have prepared myself for the inevitable, that Myshka will one day not need me to follow behind her, keeping away the monsters,” Volchenkov murmured. 

“But she is not your primary mission.”

Max gave Reid a curious sideways glance. Reid continued on.

“You are undoubtedly not allowed to speak on this topic. I understand that too. Our conversation will stay here, between us. Perhaps it is unwise of me to say anything at all, but over the last few weeks, I’ve realized….” Reid stammered. He started again. “When I was in the hospital….” His voice trailed off. He was unsure what to say next. He rumpled the catalogue in his hands and folded it back out again. 

“It’s not uncommon for people who have had near-death experiences to come out the other side with a new sense of enlightenment,” Max offered. 

Reid nodded quietly. 

“Yes. Precisely that. One of the most important things I realized, is that there are people in my life. People that I don’t express myself to. As well or as often as I should. People that I do not appreciate. As much as I should,” Spencer said. 

“If you are about to get warm and sentimental on me…..” Max chuckled, shaking his head. 

“I thought a lot about Mouse when I was ill, and I am grateful that she has you. I am grateful that she has someone who will look out for her when I am not able to. Thank you for taking care of my daughter.”

“You are welcome. It is my job.”

“It’s more than your job. You care about her. And you care about Yulia too.”

“It is more than my job, yes.”

“I understand,” Reid nodded. 

“I know that you do,” Max smiled. 

“You have had a near-death experience?” Reid asked. 

“Oh, yes. It was many years ago, but when my life flashed before my eyes, there were things I had done that made me ashamed of myself. I promised then that I would turn my life around, devote myself to making my mother proud of me.” 

"How's the working out?" Reid wondered. 

"Largely successful," Max hedged. Reid snickered softly. 

“So? It’s a sibling rivalry thing? You and your brother Val in Anaheim?” Reid teased carefully. 

“Be grateful you are an only child, Dr. Reid. There is no one you can love as much and hate as much as your siblings,” Max grumbled. 

“Isn't it interesting, how different fruit of the same vine can be? It’s not uncommon for brothers to be at odds, especially if they have different personalities. Hotch and his brother are like that though. He says his mother prefers Sean over him, because Sean is more like herself, and he is too much like his father.”

“Valerie, he is so driven. So ambitious. So much more clever. At least that’s how Mama sees him. He’s getting married this summer. What are the odds he would find a nice Russian girl, in California of all places, one who meets with Mama's approval? Mama is elated, of course. Now every time I talk to her, she asks me, ‘When are you getting married, Maksim?’ ” 

“Your mother always favored Val over you?”

“Even when we were children,” Max grumbled. 

“She is your mother figure too then?” 

“What?”

“Yulia Korsakova. She is a mother figure to you as well. I have often wondered, what dynamic keeps you together, beyond duty and honor.”

“I have no desire to be breastfed, if that is what you are driving at, Mr. Profiler,” Max snickered. 

“No. I mean to say that your feelings of inadequacy with your own mother are soothed by the fact that Korsakova chose you as private bodyguard, and to look after her daughter, rather than choosing your brother Valerie. It was the first time anyone had their pick, and chose you over him, and you are forever grateful to Korsakova,” Reid replied. 

“I…. oh…” 

“Whereas in Hotch’s case, it’s a matter of his mother disliking her mate, and therefore disliking the child who favors that mate. Her own self-love makes her prefer Sean, who is quieter and less physically-intimidating, and more like herself.” 

“I suppose,” Max agreed. 

“The most important relationship in a man’s life is with his mother,” Spencer murmured. “Objectively speaking, perhaps it was unhealthy of me to keep my mother’s car for so many years. In a roundabout way, Edward Trovinger is making me do something I would not have done otherwise.” 

“Who is this Trovinger? He is the one who blew up your car?” 

“Yes,” Reid nodded. 

“Perhaps he did you a favor then?” Max agreed, happy for the change in topic away from himself. 

“He is forcing me to grow up, to stretch further away from my mother than I have been willing to go before.”

“How is your mother?” 

“As well as can be expected. She is not answering my letters or taking my phone calls, believes I am away on a secret mission, but the doctors tell me she is doing well other than that. I didn’t tell her about the car yet.”

“Would she be angry?” 

“Upset. Hurt, I think.” 

“Hurt?” 

“Saddened.” 

“Why?”

“She was very sentimental about Bessie. I was conceived in that car.” 

Max blinked at Reid, and winced. 

“That is way more information than I ever needed to know,” Max choked. He won a grin from Reid. 

“The symbolic significance of having my mother’s car destroyed cannot be overstated.” 

“I do not follow you, and I am not sure I wish to,” Max murmured. 

“Am I rambling?” Reid wondered quietly, shrinking down in his seat again. “Forgive me. I’m bored. Being off work. Idle hands. I can’t wait. To return to work. I am anxious. For work. Puzzles. Mysteries to unravel.”

“This therapy you are going to? It is mental or physical? I mean that in a nice way,” Volchenkov insisted when Reid gave him stink eye. 

“Physical therapy every day. Speech therapy twice a week. Psychological therapy once a week.”

“How long must you keep doing this?” 

“Until I can walk a straight line without my cane. Until my boss, and his boss. And her boss, and their boss. And the big boss, collectively all agree that I’m not going to snap under pressure. And turn into a violent maniac.”

“Hmm. Physical therapy. They pay someone to twist you around, stretch your limbs, bend your body for you, that sort of thing?” 

“Yes.”

“What kind of person takes a job like this?” 

“An absolute sadist,” Reid replied. 

“Is it helping?” Max asked. 

“Somewhat,” Reid admitted sheepishly. 

“Is she pretty?” Max inquired playfully. “Maybe I would like to meet her. I have a few kinks in my bones as well.”

“He isn’t pretty. He’s a former athlete. Who can’t play because he was injured. He is bitter about having his dream of NFL stardom derailed. This was his second. Career choice. He is not a happy man. You wouldn’t like him. He has all the warmth and tenderness. Of Genghis Khan.”

“Why would you submit yourself to this indignity?”

“Because I want my job back,” Reid pouted. 

"I begin again to be reminded of how similar you and Myshka are in temperament," Max chortled.


	4. Lead Along the Garden Path

There was a quiet knock at Mouse’s bedroom door. She uncurled from the chair by the window, put down her bow and her violin, and tread across the room. When she peered out the door, Jack’s curious face was there.

“Hi,” he beamed at her. 

“Hi,” she frowned in return.

“They’re gone.”

“Oh,” Mouse sniffed, drying her face. “Where did they go?”

“Max took Papa to therapy.”

“They left us alone?” 

“They’ll be back in a couple hours. Papa was trying to tell you, but you kept playing. I guess you couldn't hear him."

"I'm practicing. I have music class on Mondays."

"You wanna go outside and play pirates?”

“No,” Mouse frowned. 

“I’ll let you be a pirate too.”

“No, thanks.”

“Oh,” Jack said. “Do you want to watch tv? I have lots of cartoons.”

“I’m too old for cartoons,” Mouse replied, opening the door all the way. Jack was wearing a hammer and a screwdriver in his belt. “What are those for?” Mouse wondered.

“I’m fixing things around the house that are loose. The lamp in the tv room flickers. I changed the light bulb, but that didn’t make any difference. There’s a light socket in my room that keeps coming undone. I've watched Dad use this before. You put this in the tip of the slot on the screw and turn. Righty-tighty. Lefty-loosey.”

“What’s the hammer for?” 

“I want to take off the plate and see what is inside. Maybe it’s a big mouse in there who is unscrewing the socket at night.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“What?”

“Diddling around with the electrical sockets?” 

“What does ‘diddling’ mean?” Jack asked.

Mouse tugged the hammer and the screwdriver away from Jack. 

“Show me where the loose socket plate is,” she sighed, pointing into the hallway.

“You can’t fix it,” Jack protested.

“Why not?”

“You’re a girl,” Jack replied. 

“Oh. Hmm. Really. That’s not good,” Mouse said, striding towards Jack’s room. 

“What’s not good?” 

“You appear to have been exposed to a very serious and dangerous disease."

“What disease?”

“Something so horrible even the CDC can’t contain it.”

“What's the CDC? I haven’t been exposed to any diseases. I got my shots this year before school started,” Jack disagreed.

“Are you sure you got all of your shots?” Mouse asked, opening Jack’s bedroom door and peering around. 

“What do you mean, all of them?” 

“Which socket is loose?” Mouse asked. 

“That one,” Jack pointed over by his bed. Mouse went to examine it more closely. Sure enough, the socket plate was hanging by one screw. “I got three different shots at the nurse’s office before school started. What other shots would I need to get?” Jack asked as Mouse scooted out the side table and sat down on the floor.

“I don’t want to alarm you, but you show all the signs of having swine flu,” Mouse answered, fitting the extra screw on the floor into the empty hole, and carefully screwing it back into place. She tightened the other screw as well. 

“We should take the plate off and look inside,” Jack said.

“No, no, we shouldn’t,” Mouse frowned, standing up and moving the bedside table back into place. 

“What’s swine flu?” Jack wondered. 

“There are actually two kinds of swine flu,” Mouse replied. “The first type is caused by the H1N1 virus. In the beginning, it was spread by close contact with infected pigs, but now it’s spread from person to person with infected air and flying snot. H1N1 results in a high fever and lethargy, as well as diarrhea, vomiting, and other fun things like that.”

“I feel fine,” Jack protested. “I don’t have swine flu.”

“Oh, you might not have the first kind of swine flu, but you show all the signs of having the second kind of swine flu,” Mouse teased, glancing around Jack’s room. “Anything else loose?” 

“No. What are the signs of the second swine flu?” Jack wanted to know. 

“It’s passed between father and son, even between father and daughter, or mother and son.”

“What happens with the second kind of swine flu?” Jack asked, following Mouse out of his room and back into the hallway. "Puke and snot and poop?" 

Mouse was walking along, pausing at each of the wall sockets, testing the screws in the plates. Several of them were loosened. 

“No. Nothing like that. If it’s a serious case, and it’s left untreated, you will spend a lot of time alone as an adult, ostracized by polite society, keeping company only with people who are also infected with swine flu. You might never get married, because girls won’t like you. Worst case scenario, you could eventually turn into a hermit.”

“What’s a hermit?” Jack worried.

“It’s a dirty, hairy guy with a long white beard, who lives in the forest in a crumbling castle ruin. He walks around talking to himself, and his invisible friends, and feeding the wildlife.”

Jack didn’t like this idea, if the expression on his face was any indication.

“I don’t want to be a homeless guy in the forest,” he decided anxiously.

“Then you need to be inoculated against the second kind of swine flu.”

“What should I do?” Jack asked. 

“The most important thing is that you have to stop thinking that girls can’t do what boys do,” Mouse smiled. 

“But you can’t do everything I can do,” Jack protested. Mouse made a face at him.

“Oh dear. It might already be too late for you.”

“No, it’s not!” Jack protested again. “What do I do?” 

“It’s very important that you keep away from chauvinist pigs. Have you been spending a lot of time around men who think women can’t do everything that men can do?” 

“Not that I know of. What's a chauvinist pig?"

“It's the worst kind of pig there is. What about Hotch?” Mouse wondered.

“I’ll ask Dad if he’s been exposed to any pigs,” Jack agreed. “Wait?” 

“What?” 

“I had bacon with breakfast!” Jack fretted. 

“That’s not good at all. You have to give up bacon,” Mouse clucked. “Right away. No more bacon.”

“Not even turkey bacon?” 

“ ‘Fraid not,” Mouse mused. 

Jack hurried to catch up with Mouse as she went from room to room, testing each of the wall sockets. 

“So….. what do I do if I already have swine flu?” Jack wanted to know. “Is there a cure? Like a shot?” 

“You have to spend more time with girls. A lot more time. If you do, you’ll see for yourself that we can do everything you can do,” Mouse replied. She sat down on the settee in the master bedroom, glancing around curiously. 

“We’re not supposed to be in here when Daddy and Papa aren’t home,” Jack blurted, tugging on Mouse’s arm. 

“Do you think Papa would mind if I borrowed a couple of his books?”

“No.”

“No, he wouldn’t mind, or no, don’t do it?” Mouse asked.

“No, Papa wouldn’t mind. But you should ask first.”

“I could leave him a note,” Mouse pondered sadly. “Where do the tools go?” she asked, standing up from the settee, still ogling the books. 

“We have to put them back in the garage. Daddy and Papa are both pretty hyper about all the tools going back where they belong when you’re done. What if you need the screwdriver, and you can’t find the screwdriver?” 

“You could always break into your zombie defense kit for a screwdriver.”

“Zombie what?” Jack asked. Mouse was standing by the first set of bookshelves, running her eyes across the titles. Her eyes narrowed at Jack’s question. 

“You don’t have a zombie defense kit?" she inquired innocently. 

"No," Jack frowned. 

"Oh no!" Mouse exclaimed. "You never know when you might need to fend off a bloodthirsty, brain-devouring, zombie hoard,” she warned playfully. 

Jack had more than a vague suspicion Mouse was pulling his leg. 

“There’s no such thing as zombies,” he replied. 

"You believe in ghosts, but you don't believe in zombies?" 

"I've seen a ghost. I've seen two ghosts. I have never seen a zombie," Jack answered. 

“I’ve seen proof! Online! Actual video footage of the shuffling undead," Mouse insisted. 

“That’s all make-believe, like space aliens,” Jack frowned. 

“Space aliens are real, Jack. Very real. As real as zombies are,” Mouse insisted. Jack stared at her blandly. “You don’t believe me?”

“No,” Jack replied as he eyed her skeptically.

“You put the tools back. I will show you all the zombies you want to see. Let me get my laptop!” Mouse insisted. 

 

 


	5. Picture This

“Hi,” Spencer beamed as soon as Hotch answered his phone. 

“Hello, sexy,” Aaron rumbled, stretching out on his hotel room bed with a sad, relieved sigh. He had been dozing- not asleep but not awake- when the phone rang, feeling miserable not only because of the no-win situation of this particular case, but because he was longing to be home. He had spent too many Saturday nights alone in distant hotel rooms. 

“How are you?” Reid worried.

“Lonely,” Aaron decided. 

“How’s the weather? In Savannah?” 

“Miserable,” Aaron sighed, thumbing the tv remote, glancing at the muted screen, and shaking his head when the unresolved hostage situation came up in the news once again. He had come back to the hotel tonight because he had needed sleep. He had been awake for thirty-six hours straight, and he needed rest if he hoped to function. “How’s the weather there?” he wondered. 

“Chilly. Gray. You don’t mind. If I put on clothes. Do you?” Spencer teased softly. Aaron snorted, and tucked the phone tighter to his ear.

“I’m sorry I said that. I sounded like such an arrogant ass. Wish I was there. I miss you so much.” 

“I miss you too,” Spencer whispered back. 

“Are you in your bed?” Hotch asked tentatively.

“At this hour?” Reid replied. “Where else should I be?” 

Aaron’s mischievous side kicked in. It was Reid's cheerful warmth that spurred him on. “You should be here, straddling my lap, screaming my name. I want you in my arms. I want you in my mouth.”

“Aaron,” Spencer gasped. Hotch could almost see the blush creeping over him. 

“What?” Aaron asked. “Aren't you alone?” 

“Yes. Are you alone?” Reid asked. 

“Who the hell else would be here?” Hotch grumbled.

“That dishy redheaded reporter.”

“What dishy redheaded reporter?”

“The one who kept batting her big eyes at you, wearing that ‘come hither’ smile.” 

“Oh. Her. Don’t worry. I made sure she saw my ring, and Morgan was sure to mention several that I was married. She took the hint and backed off.” 

“Good,” Reid pouted, staring down at his own hand, at his own ring. 

“Good,” Hotch agreed, clicking off the tv. He had almost forgotten how much he loved when Reid showed his jealous side. 

“I have a present for you,” Spencer murmured. “To tide you over, until you are home again.”

“Do you?” 

“You have to hang up. So I can send it to you.”

“Is it an email?”

“It’s a picture,” Spencer whispered softly, shyly. 

“What kind of picture?” Hotch asked. 

“The kind you have to erase off your phone, after you see it,” Reid warned.

“In that case, I’m hanging up.” 

“Good night,” Reid murmured.

“Good night. I miss you.” 

“I miss you too.” 

“Reid, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you aren’t pausing so much when you talk.” 

“What?” 

“You aren’t pausing as much when you talk,” Hotch whispered.

“Not when I talk to you,” Reid whispered. Hotch wondered what that had to do with it, but he knew better than to question Reid about the comment. “I’m hanging up. Then I’m sending you a picture. Come home soon. Come home safe.”

“From your lips to God’s ears,” Hotch intoned. “Are you sending the picture?”

“I am hanging up right now, to send it,” Spencer whispered. 

“Night,” Hotch whispered.

“Night,” Reid whispered back. 

Hotch touched the button reluctantly to disconnect their call. The few seconds between the call and the buzz which indicated that he had a new email felt empty and cold without Spencer’s voice. Aaron tucked his pillows together tightly, and laid back against them once more. He thumbed his phone screen, and caught his breath when the image finished downloading. 

It was two by four inches of pure soft porn. So many familiar freckles on bare skin. A tight black leather collar on a particular tall neck that he loved to kiss. Aaron couldn’t see Reid’s face-- only a hint of his squared jaw, a portion of his lush mouth, and a single dusky-rose-red nipple, along with that light brown mole that was to the right of his sternum. It was an amateur selfie, taken by someone not accustomed to this sort of lovers' exchange, which made it all the more meaningful to Aaron. He wondered who had suggested the idea to Reid. Hotch’s mouth watered at the very thought that all of this belonged to him, body and soul, as much as he belonged to Reid too. Aaron longed for Spencer even more desperately than before. Hotch was never erasing this picture, ever. He immediately dialed Reid back. 

“Hello?” Spencer murmured. "You again?" he added, pretending to be surprised when he read the caller ID. 

“That is lovely,” Aaron purred. “Thank you.” 

“Do you like it?” Reid asked tentatively. 

“Of course I like it.”

“I’ll wear it for you when you get home.”

“I meant you…you are lovely. I like you. I love you. I will never get to sleep tonight, thinking about you, and that collar, and you wearing that collar and nothing else.”

Reid gave a delightful, soft laugh that made Hotch’s insides tingle.

“I can’t wait to touch you, to kiss you,” Hotch rumbled. “Can’t wait to make you mine again.”

“Would you like a bedtime story? To help you sleep?” Spencer asked. 

“Only if it’s filled with four-letter words,” Hotch mused. 

There was a loud thump from Reid’s end of the line, and Hotch sat up in bed.

“What was that? Are you okay?” he worried.

“I rolled over, and my book dropped on the floor. But I hear the pitter-patter of tiny feet in the hallway. Jack is headed to the restroom. He will no doubt pop in here. He hasn’t hardly slept tonight. I wonder what’s wrong. I need to put on clothes. Do you want to talk to Jack if he's awake?" 

"He shouldn't be up at this hour. He should be asleep."

"I know."

"Put him back to bed, or he'll be cranky all day tomorrow."

"I'll put Jack back to bed. Good night. I love you,” Spencer rushed.

“Good night. I love you too,” Hotch replied.

 


	6. Clingy

Papa was pulling on a shirt when Jack knocked on the master bedroom door.

“Come in,” Reid called softly. Jack took him at his word. The little boy dashed to the bed, jumped under the covers, and balled up against Hotch’s pillows. 

“Hi,” Jack said, sitting up against the headboard, arms around his knees.

“Are you okay?” Reid worried, walking slowly back to the bed and sitting down.

“Can I sleep in here? I thought you might be lonely.” 

“Yes, you may. I’m indeed very lonely,” Papa replied, smiling tenderly. 

“What are you reading?” Jack asked when Reid picked up a book from the folds of the blankets and set it on his bedside table.

“I am rereading Boris Akunin's The Winter Queen. There’s excitement. Danger. Adventure. Romance. Tragedy. We can give it a couple chapters. See what you think, hmm? Like tasting a dish you haven’t eaten before?” Spencer offered, turning to the front of the book. 

“Some other time,” Jack persuaded.

“All right,” Papa agreed, slipping his bookmark back into place and setting the book aside. “Jack, if you don't mind me saying so, you seem a touch nervous.”

“Nervous?” the little boy’s voice rose dramatically. He toyed with the edge of the blanket, unable to look Papa in the face. “Will Daddy be home soon?”

“He is working on the case in Savannah. If you want to talk to him. We can call him. But he might be upset that you are awake so late at night,” Reid said, reaching for the phone.

“No. No. Don't call Daddy. He's busy. I don’t want to be a pest." 

"You are never, never, never a pest," Reid reassured Jack. 

"Daddy is busy. Besides that, if I call him every time I have a bad dream, he's going to think I'm acting like a baby. I'm not a baby. I'm not." 

"No, you are not a baby. You are very grown-up for your age. But you can always talk to me, or to Daddy, about anything, even bad dreams. We won't ever think you're a baby." 

"Are you sure?" 

"I'm sure. We can talk now, if you want." 

"Okay." 

"Tell me about your bad dreams," Reid persuaded. 

"I was wondering….” Jack began.

“Yes?” Reid waited. 

“Could I get an advance on my allowance?”

Reid smiled at the swift change in topic, and didn't miss a beat with a fast reply. “That depends. Is it for a good reason?” 

“Yes! Lives could be at stake. That's a very good reason." 

"It is," Reid agreed. 

"I’ve got ten dollars and forty-eight cents, but I need more.”

“How much do you need?” 

“Altogether, five hundred thirty-two dollars and eighty-five cents,” Jack reported. 

Reid gave him a tiny quiver of a laugh before becoming serious again. 

“That is a curiously-specific sum. You may have as much money as you need, Jack. Do you prefer bills, or coins, or a check?"

“The website said I have to use a credit card.”

“What website?” Reid wondered. 

“Amazon. Mouse and I browsed lots of online stores, but Amazon had the best price on backpacks, and the reviews on their machetes were very positive. I put all the supplies in the shopping cart on Dad’s home computer, but I didn’t push the GO button yet. I thought I should ask one of you first.”

“Mmmm. A good decision,” Reid agreed with an impish smile. 

“Amazon can deliver all the supplies in three days, no shipping fees. I can build the kits myself,” Jack said rapidly. 

“All the supplies?” 

“I found everything except handguns and bullets, but I thought Dad could bring some home from work.”

“Did you and Mouse have fun. While I was at therapy?” Reid asked. 

“Yes, she helped me fix the loose electric sockets.”

“What loose electric sockets?” 

“The one in my room, the one in the hall, all of those.”

“Jack, you should tell me or Daddy if you find loose electric plates. Household current is very dangerous. You could hurt yourself. You could kill yourself. You’re old enough to know not to touch electric sockets.”

“We were very careful,” Jack insisted. Reid was mentally counting all the sockets in the house, knowing tomorrow he needed to purchase socket cover plates. How hard would it be to move the sockets above Jack's reach? 

“Next time,” Reid nodded. “What else did you and Mouse do? While Max and I were gone?” 

“Nothing,” Jack’s voice rose again. 

Reid gave him another tiny smile. He slid across the bed and reached for his cane. Once he was upright, he held out a hand to Jack. 

“Where are we going?” the little boy wondered. 

“To see what you put in the shopping cart on Daddy's computer. To see if I can figure out what kind of kits you want to build,” Reid said as he ambled towards the bedroom door. 

As Reid walked out into the darkened hallway, Goody darted past him, making him flail in surprise. Jack screamed to the rafters, and grabbed Reid around both legs, holding onto him for dear life, pushing him up against the wall and standing in front of him. Reid’s cane clattered over the banister rail and crashed to the dining room table below. Goody hissed, ran down the stairs, through the dining room, and around in the tv room before heading to the kitchen and clawing desperately at the back door. 

Max’s guest bedroom door popped open. He was a blur of green and brown pajamas, his Sig Sauer shining brightly in the rays from the overhead light which Reid flipped on.

“I heard screams,” Volchenkov panted, lowering his gun and running a hand through his short hair. 

Mouse’s door popped open too. She was wearing an oversized Washington Capitals hockey jersey which draped to her knees. She was rubbing her eyes and frowning. Her hair was sticking up in every direction. It was impossible not to see the resemblance between her and Reid, with their identical physical stances and their wild hair. 

“It’s okay. Not an emergency. Sorry we woke you up,” Reid murmured. Mouse and Max both stared down at Jack in vague annoyance. 

“Good night,” Max mumbled, closing his door again. 

“Mouse….” Reid began. 

The kitchen door crashed open below. Goody scrambled outside into the night. Honeywell burst into the house, gun drawn, face full of concern. 

“False alarm,” Reid called out to the terrified ensign, who had sprinted to the landing by the time Reid’s words registered with him. Honeywell sagged in place and lowered his gun. Reid turned back to talk to Mouse, but she had already retreated behind her closed door. 

“Sorry,” Jack whispered, hiding in Reid’s middle once more. Reid bent down to him and kissed his forehead.

“It’s okay,” Reid promised. 

“I’ll be….um…” Honeywell said, putting away his weapon. 

“Sorry,” Reid murmured. 

“No problem. I need a good scare now and then,” Honeywell insisted. “Keeps me on my toes.” 

“I thought Goody was a zombie,” Jack whispered. 

“Zombie?” Reid questioned. His face jerked with a grin and a frown at once. He sat down on the floor in front of Jack. “Were you and Mouse watching scary movies while I was gone today?” 

“They weren’t movies. They were real videos. It was so scary,” Jack shivered. 

“Jack, there aren't any zombies around here," Reid promised. "Mouse, we're going to talk about this tomorrow...." he called out sternly. 

"No, we're not," Mouse called back distantly from her room. 

Honeywell looked between Reid and Jack, and back at Jack. The ensign's face was calm and serious. 

“You know, I’ve had some experience with zombies,” Honeywell offered. Jack’s eyes lit up with interest. Reid wasn’t sure what Honeywell was up to, but he decided to wait the ensign out, in order to determine if his strategy was to pacify Jack or to heighten his fear even further. Reid pulled himself slowly up to his feet once more. 

“You have?” Jack asked in awe.

“Sure. When I was stationed in Port au Prince, Haiti, one of my main duties each evening was to secure the base perimeter, and that included checking for zombies.”

“Really?” Jack whispered. "Where's Haiti?" he asked Reid. 

"It's a nation in the Caribbean Sea, part of the Greater Antilles, which are south, southeast from Florida. Haiti shares an island with the Dominican Republic," Reid replied. 

"Zombies come from the Caribbean originally. I bet you didn't know that," Honeywell said to Jack. 

"They don't come from a mad scientist's lab in London?" the little boy questioned. 

"Ekaterina Elisabeta Korsakova....." Reid called out. 

"I'm asleep...." she called back. 

"We're going to discuss this tomorrow," Reid warned. 

"I can't hear you," Mouse lied in reply. Reid shook his head, and narrowed his eyes, but he said no more to her. 

"Did you have to carry zombie defense kits in Haiti?" Jack asked Ensign Honeywell. 

"Everywhere we went," the ensign nodded vigorously. 

"Could you look at my supply list?" Jack asked. 

“I'd be happy to. Maybe I can offer some helpful pointers?” Honeywell said to Jack, looking to Reid for approval. The doctor was withholding judgment for the moment, but suspected the ensign wanted to put Jack's mind at ease. It was clear he had had experience with children. That came as a relief to Reid. 

“Okay. Thanks, Honeybuns,” Jack smiled. He sounded more relieved already. 

“Honeywell,” Reid corrected Jack tenderly. The ensign was peeved, but only mildly so. 

"James calls him 'Honeybuns'," Jack insisted. 

"Ensign James is teasing Ensign Honeywell when he calls him that," Reid whispered. 

"Oh. Sorry," Jack offered with sad eyes. 

“That's all right. You can call me ‘Hank’,” Honeywell chuckled. 

“Frank calls him ‘Honeybuns’ too,” Jack whispered to Reid, following Honeywell to the stairs, and pulling Reid along behind. 

"You should hear what I call Frank," Honeywell murmured with an edge of mischief to his tone. 

"Nope," Reid interrupted. 

"Yeah, maybe not a good idea," the ensign agreed. 

 

 

 


	7. Tarmac

It was early Monday morning when Hotch and his team arrived back from the case in Savannah. To their surprise, AD Erin Strauss was waiting for them on the tarmac when their plane landed. 

“Uh oh,” Rossi whispered, clutching his go-bag and heading down the stairs. 

“That can’t be good,” JJ decided. 

“Ah fuck,” Morgan muttered, plodding down the steps. 

“I thought the case went as well as could be expected,” Blake murmured. 

“Is she here to bawl us out?” Torg wondered.

Strauss stood there at the bottom of the plane steps, smiling a tight grimace, nodding to each of the team members as they walked by her. 

“Ma’am.”

“Good morning. Good job. Welcome home.”

“Ma’am.”

“Good morning. Good job. Welcome home.” 

Strauss repeated this several times, watching team members scamper past her and head for their cars. Hotch was the last down the stairs, bag tucked under one arm, attaché in hand, smallish box on his arm. He steeled himself as he headed down, because Strauss was nudging closer to the end of the stairs, in order to intercept him. It was clear he was the one she wanted to speak with most. 

“Good morning, ma’am,” Hotch said as his shoes hit the tarmac. 

“Good morning, and congratulations, Agent Hotchner,” Strauss said, clearing her throat, giving an even tighter smile. 

“It wasn’t the ending we hoped for, but suicide-by-cop is not an unexpected conclusion in hostage situations. At least we were able to save the children, not that they aren’t going to be scarred for life.” Hotch stopped speaking when Strauss put a hand on his elbow. The touch gave him the willies, chilled him to the bone as a premonition of danger rushed through him. 

“Congratulations to you and Dr. Reid on your civil ceremony,” Erin clarified. 

Hotch winced but somehow managed to transform it into a small smile.

“Thank you,” he replied, vowing he was going to get Garcia. He was going to get her good for this. Penelope's outburst in the office at the top of her lungs had spilled the news of Hotch and Reid's civil ceremony to everyone in earshot, including Strauss no doubt. 

“I’m sorry I had to refuse your request for leave, but if you had mentioned in your vacation request that it was for a honeymoon, that would have made all the difference in the world. I hope you didn’t have to cancel any expensive plans.”

“We will make our arrangements for a more appropriate time,” Hotch said, wanting to clear up right there on the spot that he did not harbor hard feelings about her denying him leave time in order to send him to Savannah. He knew that all things happened for a reason, and he knew now that he had been meant to go to Savannah. Although the case hadn’t been all sunshine and roses, there had been a hidden bonus to going, in the form of a bookstore which had miraculously been within the confines of their crime scene, a well-stocked bookstore where Hotch had had hours upon hours upon hours to peruse while waiting for their gunman to respond to negotiation requests. 

“Why didn’t you mention your plans before the happy event? The department – we would have taken you both out to dinner, had a proper celebration. We would have at least acknowledged your big step," Strauss chided in a manner quite motherly. 

“I don’t want anyone to make a fuss. I prefer to keep my private life personal, as does Dr. Reid.” 

“Agent Hotchner, I hope you aren’t under the impression that you’ve been at all secretive about your relationship. It’s been obvious for years how you two feel about each other. You have always had a special relationship with Dr. Reid. But I do understand the desire to keep your private life and your personal life compartmentalized from one another, and I understand perfectly if you wish to keep the news of your ceremony private. It was not my intention to embarrass either of you.” 

“Our marriage is not going to change how Reid and I work together, how we will be working together when he comes back,” Hotch stressed, moving the box from one arm to the other arm, in hopes the movement would make Strauss let go of him. 

“Dr. Stokes tells me Dr. Reid is making tremendous progress.”

“He is.” 

“Of course, he’ll have to pass the usual benchmarks to be able to return to duty with the Bureau.”

“Yes, ma’am. He’s well aware.”

“Considering the new nature of your arrangement, I will have to make certain adjustments in your team,” Strauss said the words. Hotch’s blood ran even colder, like a stab of ice through an open wound. 

“Adjustments?” he questioned.

“Surely you must be aware. The Bureau does not allow one spouse to evaluate the job performance of the other spouse. We don't even like for spouses to work together. Another senior agent would be required to do Dr. Reid’s six month evaluations, make recommendations about salary increases, the usual. It’s policy, Agent Hotchner.”

“Absolutely, ma’am. It’s the proper thing to do,” Hotch agreed at once. 

“I could ask Agent Rossi if he will take on those duties.”

“An excellent choice,” Aaron said guardedly. He had a sense that that wasn’t the end of the conversation, nor even the meat of it. He waited, holding his breath, afraid to make another step.

“If Dr. Reid returns to the Bureau, if he returns to the BAU, that is. Agent Rabovsky will be transferring to White Collar Crimes. Their administrative assistant Hilda will be going to Fort Meade. I’m not sure where Agent Davies will land, or if she’ll return at this point. Although April has made progress, her therapist feels there are underlying traumas that she is not dealing with, ones which are impeding her progress with her recovery from the after-effects of her abduction and confinement. Agent Hotchner, I want you to know that what happened with the Cryptology Department is not at all what I had hoped or expected, and I am truly sorry for this.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Hotch responded automatically. 

“I’m truly, terribly sorry for everything that has happened, and I’d like to make it up to you and your team, and the others as well. It’s been suggested behind my back that I hoped for Agent Rabovsky to fail, and fail big, but nothing could be further from the truth. I like Bernie. I admire her. She’s been an asset to the Bureau for many years. I would not have wished this disaster on anyone, not even my worst enemy.” 

“No, ma’am,” Hotch said. 

“I’m devastated over what happened with Dr. Ramirez and everyone else too. I am determined to redouble my efforts to make certain that all of my agents have access to whatever they need to make their jobs less stressful: therapy, leave time, shorter hours, exercise areas to blow off steam, whatever it takes. I’m also determined to make certain that none of my agents are going to be a danger to one another on the job. Every single one of you will be re-evaluated to determine if you are psychologically fit for your jobs.” 

“Yes, ma’am. I believe that would be a prudent decision," Aaron replied. She was going to start with Reid, wasn’t she? Hotch was beginning to understand now where Strauss was heading with this conversation. 

“Speaking frankly, after what he’s been through, if Dr. Reid doesn’t feel he can face returning to the field, to the danger of being constantly in harm’s way, I would be happy to make other arrangements for him. I could pull a few strings, find him a safer job in the Bureau, here at Quantico, on the campus, or at any Bureau office anywhere he wants to go. There is a new opening in the Forensics Department. Agent Mendes requested a transfer to Milwaukee, in order be closer to her parents. They’re getting older, and she’s an only child, and she wants to be able to care for them.”

“Oh?” Hotch’s face went stern, cold even. 

“There’s also going to be an opening in the instructional department. Agent Bonneville is retiring after this semester is over. He’s going to hang up his badge, do some consulting work for a Hollywood type who is making a movie about the FBI, take up golfing – that sort of thing.” 

“Hmm. Sounds nice.”

“Do you remember Bonneville? He’s the one who took Gideon’s teaching position, three different basic behavioral sciences courses. Of course, he also took over the covert observation of the cadets who apply to the unit. It wouldn’t be a bad career move, if Dr. Reid would want to go that direction. Even if he would prefer not to do the observation and analysis of the incoming cadets, Dr. Reid would be more than capable of handling twice the number of classes that Bonneville has been handling in the last year. Not only that, there’s an opening in Ballistics too. I don’t know if that’s the sort of thing Reid would be interested in. What about SWAT? I’ve heard rumors there too. The Cold Case Squad would be a fine fit for him too. There are any number of positions that might be better suited to him.”

Hotch took a deep breath, and words jumbled around in his brain. He wanted to respond, but his first reaction was totally inappropriate, and not something one would say to a boss or to a woman. But when anyone made a move to hurt Reid, Hotch's first response was always to protect him, no matter who they were, no matter the personal price he might have to pay. But cautious, oh, he had to be so cautious here. Strauss watched the neck muscles in Aaron’s throat tighten into visible cords as he clenched his jaw and ground his teeth together. 

“I’m quite sure that when he does come back to work, Dr. Reid would prefer to return to the BAU,” Hotch ground out the words. 

“What would you prefer for Dr. Reid?” Strauss asked. “I know you’re concerned for him. After all he’s been through, who wouldn’t be concerned, especially for someone they love dearly? The nature of your relationship puts you in a position to observe at work and at home the kind of toll his high-stress, high-danger job is taking on Dr. Reid’s health. You can’t be blind to what’s happened to him. I know you have been very concerned for him. If you would be more at ease, having your husband in a safer position within the Bureau, I could see my way to finding him a task more suited to his delicate nature.” 

“Madam Director, I would never presume to make that decision for Dr. Reid, whether we were married or not.”

Strauss calculated for less than a second before making a shocked face, almost a pantomime of surprise. 

“Of course. Of course not. NO. I didn’t mean to imply that you would make the decision for him. You’re absolutely right. It’s not your decision where Dr. Reid goes. It would be strictly between Dr. Reid and myself.”

Strauss paused, and waited for Hotch to respond. He nodded to her, and kept his mouth shut.

“Would you ask Spencer to call me later today? I’d like to take him to lunch sometime this week. He and I need to have a serious talk. I will lay out his options for him. If you think he’s up to that?” Erin wondered, eyes glittering. The ‘concerned mother’ façade slipped, even if only for a second, and the starving jackal underneath peeked through.

“Of course, ma’am,” Hotch replied, keeping himself in check. Strauss was watching his neck muscles again though. A fraction of a smile ticked her mouth sideways before it was gone again. It was hard not to remember the many frosty exchanges with his mother when Aaron faced off with Strauss this way. Hotch’s mother had tormented him in lieu of being able to torment his father, because she had been too afraid of his father to confront him. Aaron had to wonder what man in Strauss’s life she pictured when she was tormenting him. Perhaps that wasn’t the answer at all though. It could have been as simple as the fact that Strauss enjoyed tormenting Hotch himself, no substitution in mind whatsoever. Whatever it was, whatever the reason, he never could shake the surety that Erin Strauss had enjoyed every moment of discomfort she had ever caused him. She used her position of authority over him in order to grind him down as much as possible, for the pure joy of watching him squirm. 

“Any time after 2 p.m. would work for me,” Erin purred. 

“I’ll let Reid know,” Hotch replied calmly. Strauss continued to study him. She was waiting for the reaction. She lived for the reaction. She wanted to see him angry, to see him sweat, to see him crack even in the smallest possible way. She wanted confirmation that she had gotten through his defenses. He wasn’t going to give her that satisfaction. 

“You and your team should take the rest of the day off, to make up for losing your weekend. When you’re back tomorrow, resubmit your request for leave time. As soon as we have a small break in the caseload, I will see to it that you and Dr. Reid get a chance to have a proper honeymoon.” 

“Thank you, ma’am,” Hotch said. He stood his ground and waited—emotionless and calm – until Strauss grew tired of prodding him. 

“Well, have a nice day then,” Strauss beamed with a quick, bright smile before she turned on her heels, and headed back to her waiting sedan. 

“Not if you can help it,” Aaron whispered to himself as he hugged his box closer to his chest and finally exhaled. He glanced towards the area where the rest of the team was crowded next to his SUV. They were all waiting, concerned faces turned towards him. They had watched the exchange with bated breath. Hotch straightened his shoulders and headed towards his team. 

“ ‘That one may smile and smile and be a villain’,” Rossi said. Hotch gave him a quick nod and a chuckle. How well Dave understood the dynamic between Hotch and Strauss! 

“We have the rest of the day off,” Aaron announced, unlocking his vehicle and sliding his bag, attaché, and box into the passenger seat. He faced the team and waited. Nobody moved, and no one’s grim expression changed in the slightest. 

“And?” Rossi asked.

“ ‘And’?” Hotch echoed.

“Strauss didn’t meet the plane to tell us that. Why was she really here?” Rossi pressed. 

“What’s she up to?” Blake asked. “That Cheshire grin of hers gives me the chills.”

“It’s the beady eyes that do me in,” Torg whispered.

"I can't stand the smell of brimstone," Morgan smirked. 

“She wanted to offer her congratulations on the wedding. She also wants to have lunch with Reid, to ‘discuss his options with him’, she says,” Aaron ground out the words. 

Dr. Blake gasped, “You’re going to warn Spencer, aren’t you?” 

“That goes without saying,” Hotch answered. 

Torg and JJ exchanged a glance and quickly looked away from one another. 

“Is she’s looking to downsize the team?” Torg worried. 

“No. She’s looking to bury Reid in a desk job somewhere,” Hotch grumbled. “She’s going to block his return to the BAU if she can do it.” 

“Discuss his options, my ass. Isn't it just like her, kicking a man while he's down?” Morgan growled. 

“She gave me a long list of openings in other departments, ones more suited to Reid’s ‘delicate nature’,” Hotch responded. 

“Up to her usual Machiavellian machinations?” JJ frowned.

“There’s a word for people like her,” Torg muttered.

“Is there?” Rossi asked innocently. 

“Yeah. It rhymes with witch, and that is not a compliment,” Torg chirped. 

“Prentiss was right about Strauss. All she lacks are flying monkeys,” Morgan interjected bitterly.

“It’s not that I don’t agree with how you feel, but would you be so quick to make the ‘wicked witch’ analogy if Strauss weren’t a woman?” Blake asked. JJ crossed her arms over her chest, annoyed with them as well. 

“Do you mean to ask if we would hate Strauss as much if she were a MALE conniving, back-stabbing, manipulative, two-faced Judas?” Rossi wondered. He narrowed his eyes as if thinking hard on the question. “You know, I do believe we WOULD hate her just as much if she were a man who used her position of power to torment us and make our lives miserable.”

“This doesn’t have anything to do with gender, and everything to do with the fact you can’t turn your back on Strauss without the fear of seeing a glint of silver over your shoulder,” Morgan answered. 

“You’re preaching to the choir when it comes to what Strauss is capable of doing, but I can’t shake the feeling it’s got more to do with her gender than you can admit to yourselves, gentlemen,” Alex insisted. "Strong men are afraid of women in power, especially strong men with mother issues." 

"We are distrustful of anyone in a position of power who gets off on toying with their subordinate agents because it gives them the jollies to play with people," Rossi replied. 

“Maybe before you jump to rash conclusions about all men, what you should be asking is why Strauss has it in for Hotch,” Morgan countered. “She never misses an opportunity to take a stab at him. Maybe she's the one who has a problem, taking out her pent-up hostilities on the men under her purview. What's he ever done to her? Nothing but follow her orders and do his job." 

"If Strauss were a man picking on female subordinates because of personal dislike, wouldn't you be the first to cry foul and defend your fellow agents? Or do you only fight for justice when it applies to women?" Rossi asked. 

"What if she were focusing her displeasure on people of color? Would you defend me?" Morgan asked. 

"Of course we would," JJ gasped. 

"In case you haven't read the passage recently, federal government agencies are not allowed to discriminate based on gender, race, religion, sexual orientation, age, or national origin. Last time I checked, gender covers both women and men," Morgan added. 

"So you're saying it's reverse discrimination?" Blake asked. "Why not file a suit against her?" 

"Because it would give Strauss too much satisfaction. It would acknowledge that she has wounded me. It would only whet her appetite for a bigger fight," Hotch answered. “Strauss is our supervisor. She's supposed to have our backs. But she would stab any one of us, or every one of us, if it would get her a bigger office and a better pay scale. She has made no secret of her desire to see me gone. I could handle that, if she only wanted to strike at me, because I can defend myself. I'm not afraid of her, and I know what she's up to. Maybe I even see the negative attention as a begrudging sign of respect. She is a master strategist who will use whatever means are at her disposal to get what she wants, and I do admire that in her. But when Strauss takes aim at Reid in order to wound me, that's when I draw the line. That's when I get cranky," Hotch rumbled. "I do not trust her. I will never trust her. I don’t care how she smiles at us,” Aaron added sourly. 

“Amen,” Morgan nodded.

"See you tomorrow morning, team. Go home. Relax," Hotch ordered. 

“How are we supposed to relax when Strauss is gunning for Reid?” Morgan asked. 

“Leave this to me. I will handle it in my own way,” Hotch promised. 

“You gonna punch her out?” Blake jested carefully. 

“No,” Hotch promised. He closed his car door and started the engine. Everyone else waited. Morgan mouthed something that made Rossi break into a big laugh. Hotch frowned at Morgan and rolled down the window. 

“I said you’re going to go find a house to drop on her,” Morgan called out. Hotch’s serious demeanor cracked. He smiled broadly.

“I might at that. See you tomorrow, team,” Hotch laughed. 

 

 


	8. Home

All the way home, Hotch’s stomach burned with anger at the idea of what Strauss was attempting to do to Reid. Because he had to fight traffic, it was mid-morning by the time he got there. Once he pulled onto the side road and turned into the long driveway though, thoughts of home and thoughts of Reid waiting for him there made all other concerns seem unimportant, at least for a short while. 

Hotch recognized the blue Nissan parked at the far end of the drive. The car was barely visible under the archway of trees beside the barn. Captain Spaulding met him at the backdoor with a Glock and a friendly smile. She put away her weapon, and nodded good morning. 

“Dr. Reid is upstairs,” she whispered. “What’s in the box?” 

“What box?” Hotch asked, clutching the brown cardboard container against his chest, smiling faintly. Spaulding’s brows rose, then bunched together. 

“I’ll be in the barn,” she decided. “Draw the shades. Don’t scare the neighbors.”

Hotch chuckled to himself as the Captain disappeared outside to head to the surveillance team’s workspace in the big barn next to the garage. Aaron treaded quietly through the dining room. There was an enormous bouquet of flowers in the middle of the table—lavish, expensive, gorgeous. The card was signed by Dr. Blake. Goody was snoozing nearby on Aaron’s placemat. The feline heard him go past. He cocked one eye open, uncoiled his tail, raised his backside in the air, and stretched to twice his normal length before he curled up to watch Hotch head for the foyer. Aaron slipped off his wingtips by the front door, put down his attaché, and headed up the stairs with the box steadied in both hands.

The washing machine was running in the laundry room at the other end of the big house. Reid was not in the study or in their bedroom. Their bed was stripped of linens. The purple coverlet was dragging on the floor, kicked off to one side. Naked pillows were everywhere. There was a pile of books, a mug, and a small dish on the floor beside the bed. Reid’s favorite fuzzy slippers were not in front of the settee, but his cane was resting by the bedside table. 

Jack’s bedroom door was open. His bed had been striped of linens too. His toys were all in their proper places in the shelves along the wall, except for the hundreds of Legos which were constructed into odd shapes on the foot of his bed. If Hotch didn’t know better, he would have thought the constructions resembled chemical molecules. What in the world had Jack and Reid been doing? The angel on Jack’s bedside table winked at Hotch as she spun around, happily playing her melody as she twirled. 

The first guest room (the green room) was open and empty. Mouse used it when she visited them. The linens from the bed were in a pile next to the door, a jumble of green and yellow with leaf and flower motifs. 

The second guest room door was open as well. Hotch remembered suddenly that Mouse and Max were supposed to have visited over the weekend. Had they already come and gone? He had forgotten about them entirely! Later, he should ask Reid how the visit went. For now, he was certain his quarry was near, and that was all he cared about. Hotch carried his box over to the open door, smiling happily as he peered inside.

Reid was on his knees on the bed, tugging at the corners of the dark blue sheets attached to the mattress. He was wrapped up in the dark purple sheet from their bed, wearing it like a long toga. His fuzzy slippers were dangling off his long feet. Hotch grinned, dropped the box on the threshold, and pounced forward. 

Reid saw the movement out of the corner of his eyes. He squeaked in surprise and spun around right before Hotch tackled him on the bed. One fuzzy slipper went flying. 

“Looks like I got here in the nick of time,” Aaron purred in Spencer’s closest ear. He had his arms around him, holding him tight. Reid’s laughter warmed Hotch through and through. All other thoughts became irrelevant. His entire happiness was here in his arms. 

“Nick of time?” Reid questioned with a big grin on his face. 

“Another few seconds, and there wouldn’t have been a bed in the house with sheets on it. We would have to wait for the washer to finish, and then the dryer too,” Hotch joked. He fingered the purple sheet wrapped around Reid, plucking the tucked-up edges loose. “Mmmm. I like you in this outfit. You should wear it more often.”

Reid smiled faintly in reply, but then sadly glanced away. The compliment hadn’t felt genuine to him. He didn’t believe it. He was plucking Hotch's hands away from himself. Aaron understood that Reid was feeling anything but attractive right now. He wasn’t as blind to this emotion as Reid believed he was. Hotch was doing his level best to convince Reid how desirable he was, but it was slow going, to be sure. 

“I have a surprise for you,” Hotch whispered. 

“A pleasant surprise, I hope,” Reid murmured, shifting under Hotch’s weight. 

“Don’t move. Stay like that. Right like that.”

Hotch raced over, grabbed the box, and hurried back to the bed. He popped open the lid. He plucked an object from inside, and plopped it tenderly on top of Reid’s head. 

“Keep your eyes closed,” Aaron whispered. 

Reid sat up, and his long fingers went north to touch and to test. It was a hat with an oval brim, made of a soft material like suede or felt. His fingers traced a braided band. Reid quickly deduced it was a western hat after taking in the feel of the dents in the crown. Reid popped open one eye – the hat was rust brown. He touched the brim with one finger, and wondered what Hotch was doing as he dug around in the box again. 

“Left foot,” Hotch whispered. He stroked the back of Spencer’s calf, kissed his ankle, and elicited a delightful giggle as he tossed the fuzzy slipper aside and nosed the sole of Spencer’s out-stretched foot. To Reid’s surprise, Hotch slid an object onto his foot – heavy, well-worn, loose, comfortable. A boot? Mid-calf height. Reid flexed his toes, stretched his leg. Hotch slid a hand under Reid’s other thigh, kissed along his inner thigh and knee. He took his other calf in hand, and put the matching boot on his other foot. 

“You're in the mood to play dress up this morning?” Spencer murmured. 

“Shh. Keep your eyes closed,” Hotch ordered. 

Hotch stood up from the bed. His clothes were swishing and rustling. Curiosity got the better of Spencer. He popped an eye open again, concealing his face by lowering his hat brim. Hotch was wearing a cowboy hat too. Aaron peeled off his suit jacket and tie, leaving them on the series of hooks on the back of the bedroom door, which he closed quietly. Hotch’s hat was dark gray with a black band on it. Reid gasped with excitement, because he recognized the outfit and the character from his favorite western novel series. He was grinning from ear to ear. 

“No peeking,” Aaron scolded, slipping out of his trousers. He pulled on faded jeans a second later, as well as a belt adorned with a decorative buckle. Finally he slid his feet into black western boots. Reid peered down at his own feet, rolling his left foot side to side. He was wearing brown boots. 

“That outfit suits you nicely, Marshal,” Reid drawled quietly from under the brim of his hat. Hotch jumped slightly. 

“Stop that. You are anticipating my surprise,” Hotch said, letting a passable twang enter his usually-impeccable diction. “Are your eyes closed?” Aaron asked, lifting Reid’s hat.

“Yes,” Spencer lied, squinting tightly.

“Keep them closed.”

“I am.”

“Lift your arms,” Aaron whispered. When Spencer raised his arms, Aaron slid soft, light material over his head. Hotch pulled one arm through a loose sleeve, then the other, and finally tucked the tails of the very long shirt against Reid’s slender middle. 

“Done yet?” Reid wondered. 

“Nope. Lie down. Get comfortable.”

Reid sighed impatiently and thumped back against the bed. Rough denim scraped his legs and teased his thighs as Hotch reached for the box again, and came back to the mattress. Aaron nestled in beside Spencer. Hotch put something light but solid down on the mattress between them. Spencer’s nose twitched with a familiar scent. Moldy old books? What a heavenly smell! Dusty from long storage in unsafe conditions, maybe stacked on a shelf for years and years. He could almost imagine yellowed, weathered pages which rustled when turned. 

Hotch cleared his throat, and murmured softly. 

“A Wanted Man by Daisy Hawthorne.”

Reid shrieked out and rocketed upright, grasping for what he knew Hotch was holding. Aaron jerked the dusty paperback out of Spencer’s grip, and he whacked Reid on the brim of his hat. Spencer stopped grabbing everywhere. 

“Reid, behave," Hotch scolded. 

“You found one of Daisy's novel that I haven’t read! You found….OH MY GOD!” Reid exclaimed, gaping down into the box. “YOU FOUND SEVEN OF THEM!” Reid fluttered with excitement. He could hardly contain his delight. He bounced in place for a beat or two. Hotch laughed and smiled. 

“Yes, I did, and if you want me to read them to you, you’re going to lie here and behave yourself,” Aaron instructed him firmly. Spencer collapsed back to the bed, put his hat back on, tucked the brim down, and coiled up.

“Okay,” he peeped.

“A Wanted Man by Daisy Hawthorne,” Hotch repeated. “Prologue – Domestic Hiss.” 

Reid rolled onto his side and begged, "Read faster." 

“Shush,” Aaron bawled. 

“Shh,” Reid echoed. Hotch cleared his throat and began again. 

“ ‘It wasn’t that Marshal didn’t appreciate the necessity of calling chickens to breakfast, but he swore to God that if Doc roused him up from a deep sleep one more goddamn morning at the crack of dawn, he was gonna let hot lead fly. He lay still in the smothering heat, and waited for his temper to dissipate. No point in being angry. After three years in Boulder City, he should be more than accustomed to Doc’s peculiar morning routine. 

‘Marshal rolled over in their tiny bed and groaned. There would be no getting back to sleep, not with that twangy call of ‘Chick, chick, chick, chick’ echoing in his brain. He sat up and put his feet on the floor, scratching the back of his head and down under his chin. He stretched like an old tom cat, and hopped slowly to the window as he pulled on his denims. The floorboards complained under his feet. The sun was barely touching the horizon, and it was already too hot to be outside. He winced as the merciless rays glanced off of the worn, wood sill. 

‘There was Doc, all right. He was down in the yard before the barn, wearing his boots, a long nightshirt, and his favorite hat. Doc was clucking and calling to his prized Jersey Giants, the speckled Dominiques, and the snowy-white Leghorns which pecked and poked and danced around in the grassy dirt. Doc loved those damned noisy birds. Marshal was partial to them too – baked, fried, stuffed. 

‘Doc had the front of his nightshirt bunched up against his long thighs. His thin fingers dug into the makeshift pouch, and withdrew handfuls of ground corn to toss to his precious chickens. He spread the feed out, making sure every single bird got their fill. He had to tenderly toe a couple of the feistier roosters back from the hens when they tried to horn in and steal the girls’ breakfasts. He was smiling contentedly, calling each one by name as he spoke to them in his tender, gentle voice. 

‘Marshal leaned on the window sill as happiness warmed up from his chest and a silly smile bloomed out over his face. That was Doc all over - that was the man Marshal had fallen in love with. This was one of those moments when everything became so clear to Marshal – the reason the world kept spinning, the reason the stars shined at night, the reason he had given up a good job in Washington to share a tiny farm in this sunbaked valley in the middle of the Nevada Desert. His life had been reduced to one simple mission – to be able to wake up every morning and see Doc smile. Things were going well. It was barely after sunrise, and already today was a success.

‘Speaking of sunshine, did Doc not realize that the morning rays were filtering through his thin nightshirt, displaying every inch of his willowy nakedness to the world? The man had no idea how attractive he was, or he would not have been out there doing what he was doing. Marshal was tempted to give a loud wolf whistle, but he knew that was not the proper approach when it came to letting Doc know how he felt. He had learned by trial and error that the best approach with Doc was to go gentle and easy, to let him come to you. 

‘Doc finished tossing around the chicken feed, and dropped his nightshirt back into place, patting his lap to dust off the crumbs. He stood fanning himself with his hat. The light cut through his clothes, displaying a perfect silhouette of his body. He was making Marshal’s heart race as he ambled through the pecking chickens to reach the red water pump, brushing a fly or two away, pushing back his wild, messy hair before putting his hat back into place. 

Each rise and fall of the long handle made the pump squeak. The water was slow to start. A trickle began to collect in the metal pail below. Each time Doc lifted the pump handle, his nightshirt would rise up his legs. The harder he pumped, the faster the water would flow, and the higher his nightshirt would go. By the time he got the water flowing full-force, Doc realized what was happening to his nightshirt. He reached behind himself and tugged the long tail down over his backside once more. He turned and glanced worriedly back towards the house. His eyes raised to Marshal in the bedroom window. Doc blushed brightly , and hung his head with a shy smile. 

“Jesus Christ, Doc. They got this new invention called ‘pants’,” Morgan called out from down below on the front porch. 

“Hush,” Doc howled back at Morgan. They shared a brotherly connection that Marshal envied, one that buoyed both of them but often left Marshal feeling on the outside looking in. They could tease and torment like nothing else, and yet be the first to defend the other if the situation went south. 

A long pair of denims went flying out towards the thin man. Doc caught the pants and slid them on, turning away to fix the front closed. 

“Rising sun and full moon. You are quite the astronomical phenomenon this morning,” Morgan cackled as he ambled over to collect the first bucket of water, and also to give Doc another pail to fill. Clucking, squawking chickens scattered from his path. Morgan returned to the kitchen to start breakfast for Callie and Jack, who were asleep upstairs. Doc headed to the barn to care for the rest of their animals. He maneuvered the sloshing second bucket towards the barn doors, sliding the heavy wooden slabs open one at a time. Doc glanced tentatively at the bedroom window, and smiled again at Marshal before ducking inside to continue his morning routine. 

‘Marshal cleared his throat and reached for his shirt. That second glance and shy smile had been all the invitation he needed. He scrambled downstairs to see if Doc needed help with his chores. If he was lucky, maybe the two of them could duck into the hayloft for a few minutes too’.”

“Hotch?” Reid whispered, tugging on the front of his shirt. 

“What?” Hotch murmured. He glanced down when he realized that Reid was scanning the back cover to read the synopsis. "No reading ahead," Hotch murmured. Delight and curiosity warmed Spencer’s eyes. Hotch folded his finger in between the pages and held the book in one hand, far out of Reid’s reach. 

“Where did you find them?” Reid asked.

“In the bookstore in Savannah.”

“Is it legal to keep chickens in city limits here?” 

“I have no idea,” Hotch shrugged. 

Reid nosed Hotch’s neck, bumping hat brims with him. “I love you,” Spencer whispered. 

“I love you too. But you need to pay attention, or you might miss something important,” Hotch whispered, “like the recipe for Doc’s special udder balm.” 

Spencer gave a thin smile, studying Aaron with the eyes of an ancient sage. 

“Do you want to talk about Savannah?”

Hotch’s smile fell. 

“No.” 

“I know it was bad. I saw the news.” 

“It was a no-win situation. The unsub had his mind made up before we even arrived on the scene. Suicide-by-cop was his intention all along. It was only a question of how many of us, and how many of his family, he could take with him. We were going through the motions, that’s all. It was disheartening,” Hotch mourned. 

“That’s not your fault,” Reid soothed. 

“I wish you had been there,” Hotch murmured. 

“Me too,” Reid whispered, kissing Hotch’s chin. He plucked the novel carefully from Aaron’s hand, and dropped it into the box with the others. Then he pulled Hotch into his arms, nestling under him. 

“Don’t you want to hear the rest of the story?” Hotch asked. 

“I do, very much, but you are more important to me. I want to hear you. I want to talk to you.” 

Reid pulled Hotch into a warm, wet kiss, nuzzling his neck, his nose, up under his hat brim along his brow. 

“We can finish the story later,” Reid whispered. “You’ve been gone so long,” he lamented in a twangy voice. 

“Only three days,” Hotch’s smile slowly returned. 

“As I recall, we were about to have. A very important conversation when you were called away by duty.”

“Yes, we were,” Hotch replied. “But I thought you said you wanted a glass of wine and soft music before we were going to…...”

“Bit early in the day for wine, isn’t it?”

“That all depends on the day,” Hotch replied, his mind flashing back to his tense conversation with Strauss on the tarmac earlier. He could bring that up now, but there would be plenty of time later to tell Reid that Strauss wanted him to call. 

“Chick, chick, chick, chick,” Reid cackled. Hotch’s grin returned full force. He shook with quiet chuckles. “We should go back to our own room.” 

“Why?” Aaron wondered, kisses trailing downwards, letting his hand slid up under the thin nightshirt he had dressed Reid in. 

“Because it would feel weird. To have sex in here,” Spencer cringed, fishing Hotch’s hand out from between his thighs. 

“Why?” Aaron repeated. 

“For one thing, the washer is making too much noise over there,” Reid murmured, pointing towards the wall adjoining the laundry room. 

“Mmm hmm,” Hotch agreed, standing up, and pulling Reid to his wobbly feet. Hotch gently steered Reid out into the hallway, past the green guest room, and the bathroom, and into their bedroom. Reid froze on the master bedroom threshold, wincing. 

“Shoot. Sheets. I need to get clean sheets.”

"Who needs sheets?" Hotch grinned. 

When Reid turned around to go to the linen closet, Hotch scooped him up under the legs and back. Spencer clambered around for a moment, intent on getting free, but Hotch held firmly. And then Reid realized what Hotch was doing. Spencer settled down into Aaron’s grip, putting an arm around his shoulder, leaning against Hotch’s ear.

“It is the done thing,” Hotch explained. “Across the threshold, and all of that.”

“Carry on,” Reid murmured. “Oh! Wait,” he gasped a second later. 

“What?” Hotch sighed, putting his foot back down.

“Do you remember the first time. You carried me like this?” Reid wondered. Hotch paused, pulling Reid closer, nosing him tenderly. 

“No,” Hotch admitted. 

“Thank goodness!” Reid exclaimed. 

“When was it?” Hotch wondered. “Refresh my memory.” 

“I’d rather you don’t remember, actually,” Reid laughed. 

Hotch playfully upended Reid over one shoulder, and carried him to the naked bed, plopping him down on the mattress with a thump. Reid tumbled backwards, laughing softly as he drew the comforter up onto the bed. Hotch flopped down beside Reid, and wrapped him close, nuzzling his neck.

“How was the visit with Mouse and Max? How did the test drive go?” Hotch wondered. Reid’s amusement evaporated instantly, and Hotch knew it had been a mistake to ask at all.

“Bad. Very bad,” Reid lamented. 

“Really? That bad? The visit or the test drive?”

“Mouse and I argued all weekend. We never got around to the test drive. Mouse screamed at me. She cried and sulked in her room Friday night. Most of Saturday. While I was at physical therapy, she and Jack watched scary zombie movies. He was awake with nightmares. Mouse peeked out on Sunday. Long enough to have breakfast. But she went right back in when I scolded her about letting Jack watch scary movies. We fought again before Korsakova picked her up Sunday night.”

“Why was she so upset?” Hotch asked. 

“As near as I can determine. Mouse was mad because she doesn’t want to call you ‘Dad’. At least I think that’s what it was about. I’m not entirely sure.”

“Is she mad we got married?” Hotch worried. 

“No. She was okay about the marriage. But not about calling you ‘Dad’.”

“Why?” Hotch wondered.

“I have no idea. I never once said she should call you ‘Dad’. But she was all upset,” Reid shrugged. Aaron frowned, laying back flat on the bed beside Reid. 

“I never expected her to call me ‘Dad’. She can call me whatever she wants to call me,” Hotch offered. 

“I wouldn’t give Mouse that much leeway. She knows a surprising number of curse words in a variety of languages,” Reid joked timidly. 

“I don’t mean to cause friction between you two. Mouse has never yelled at you before. I’m sorry,” Hotch whispered. 

“Max said not to take it personally. Korsakova said the same thing. It means Mouse is comfortable with me, if she’ll yell at me and not worry about offending me. She didn’t offend me though,” Reid said sadly, toying with the buttons on Hotch’s white shirt. There was hurt in his eyes. Distant memories flittered through and hung there, like bats in an old ruin. “Mouse sounds like my mom when she’s screaming. Looks like her too. Her face. Her eyes. It was like seeing my mom in an angry rage. It gave me the chills.”

“I’m sorry,” Hotch soothed, pulling Reid close. That was another topic he knew he shouldn’t bring up – Reid’s mom. Spencer broke out of the hug and sat up, scooting to the end of the bed. 

“The washer will be done any second,” Reid said, clearing his throat. He bent down and scooped up the mug and dish on the floor beside the bed. “I should start the dishwasher too. Are you hungry? I’ll make lunch for you. I’ll be downstairs,” he called as he hurried out of the bedroom. 

Hotch watched Reid go, and he hung his head between his shoulders sadly. Aaron wasn’t surprised, because Spencer usually would withdraw into himself when he was upset, leave the room and hide the hurt rather than show how he really felt. Hotch was glad he hadn’t mentioned Strauss though. That would have been the last straw for Reid, no doubt about it. 

There were two choices: Hotch could sit here and feel sorry for himself, and even more sorry for Reid, or he get up and follow, and see what he could do to make Reid less miserable, and thereby make himself feel better as well. 

It took less than a second to decide there was really only one choice after all. Aaron bounced to his feet, boots thumping on the floor. 

 

 


	9. Horse Play

“There’s meatloaf,” Reid suggested a few minutes later when he and Hotch were standing side by side, heads tipped together as they stared into the contents of the massive refrigerator which dominated one corner of the kitchen. 

“Meh,” Hotch muttered. 

“There’s corndogs. Turkey corndogs. Half the fat of…..”

“Meh,” Hotch muttered again. 

Reid closed the fridge and opened the freezer.

“Pizza?” he offered. 

“God, no,” Hotch rolled his eyes. 

“Spaghetti?”

“Ugh.” His groan garnered a sour frown from Reid.

“What the hell do you want?” 

“We could get take-out,” Hotch suggested. 

“Oh, that’s tempting,” Reid purred, closing the freezer door. Hotch stood next to him, opening the fridge side once more. “We shouldn’t,” Spencer clucked.

“You’re right. The fridge is stuffed with food. No need to order out. You’ve been cooking, a lot, haven’t you?”

“Too much time on my hands.”

“But you haven’t been eating a thing,” Hotch said, pinching Reid’s ribs. 

“Let’s not have this conversation again, please? Clearly I am eating, or I would be dead. Yes?” Reid muttered. 

“You’re not eating enough. What’s in the blue thing?” Hotch asked. 

“What blue thing?” Reid spun around.

“That blue thing,” Aaron pointed. Reid’s face softened with a tender smile.

“Yulia made pelmeni for me. She carried them on the plane even.”

“Pelmeni?”

“Little beef and pork dumplings. They’re delicious. You want?”

“I want,” Hotch nodded, scooping up the blue container. He popped the lid, chucked it in the microwave, and tapped buttons. Reid shook his head, opened the door, and took the container out. 

“You don’t microwave pelmeni. You’ll ruin them. What’s the matter with you?”

“I’m hungry?” Hotch frowned. 

Reid shook his head again, putting the container on the counter. 

“Will you die of starvation in the ten minutes it will take to boil water and cook the pelmeni properly? No.”

“I guess we’ll see,” Hotch smirked. He watched Reid traipsing around in the long nightshirt and cowboy boots, and wondered if Spencer had forgotten what he was wearing. They had lost their hats somewhere along the way, probably upstairs in the bedroom. 

Reid was digging in a lower cabinet in search of a pot for water. Hotch was checking out his adorable little backside, resisting the urge to give him a good whack for his troubles. When Spencer stood back up, Hotch was at his side, arm around his waist, nuzzling the back of his neck. Spencer filled the pot with water, and put it on the stove. He wasn’t discouraging Hotch, but he was pretending not to be distracted by him either. 

“Do we need sauce for these raviolis?” Hotch asked, capturing Reid in both arms. 

“Pelmeni. Not raviolis. Though they are essentially similar in recipe, texture, and content. While ravioli are served with tomato sauce, pelmeni are traditionally served with butter and a touch of garlic and other seasonings.”

“And vodka?” Hotch joked. 

“If you have it on hand,” Reid replied, turning up the flame and tossing a sprinkle of salt in the water. 

“My hands are kinda busy,” Hotch murmured, turning Reid around, backing him against the counter in order to kiss him. That kiss was the ignition switch. It definitely got Reid’s attention. Aaron slowly unfastened the long line of tiny buttons that traced from Spencer’s throat to near his waist, all the while tasting, touching, caressing his bare skin. 

“We should…um…we should…” Reid stammered, but he lost his train of thought as Hotch loosened the last button and dropped the thin nightshirt back over Spencer’s naked shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. Aaron was nosing the hollow of Reid’s throat. Spencer gasped softly and lifted his chin. His long arms wrapped up around Hotch’s neck. His pulse thumped rapidly, anxiously. Hotch sucked and nibbled along Reid’s neck, scraping his bare thighs with rough denim as he nestled between Spencer’s knees. 

"It's not uncommon to associate sex with food," Reid quivered as he spoke. "The customary exchange of food for the promise of sex, marriage for the security of....oh....the unspoken continous exchange of....mmm...." 

Aaron’s brain was telling his left hand to reach forward for the nearest slippery substance – probably the container of olive oil next to the stove. Spencer’s brain was listing all the reasons they should not be doing this, here, in broad daylight, in front of the back door. He should stop Hotch before he got too far into this, but it had been so long since he felt this good, since he had felt so wanted. 

Hotch coaxed Reid effortlessly to the middle of the floor, the ice-cold tiles, and although Reid peeped uncomfortably for a moment or two, when Hotch knelt down between Reid’s knees and drew him into his mouth, all thoughts about the cold floor disappeared inside that warm, wet heat. 

Aaron was doing wicked, wicked things with his tongue, teasing along the underneath of Spencer’s length, around the crown of his cock, back down the top side. Reid had almost forgotten, almost, how damned good Hotch was at this, and how determined Aaron could be when he wanted something, or someone, badly enough. There was no arguing with Hotch’s determination. 

One slickened finger slid inside Reid, causing him to flush with color. Lust welled up from his core and spread out over his body from head to toes, down his limbs and through his veins like liquid fire. Reid banged his head on the lower cabinets when he stretched out. He wasn’t aware he had a leg wrapped around Hotch’s shoulders until Aaron muttered with annoyance and clawed backwards at the boot digging into him. 

Another finger joined the first. Reid was rocking against Hotch’s hand, all embarrassment gone. Hotch was roaming around his body, teeth, tongue, fingers of his free hand stroking and caressing. Reid’s own hands came up from the tiles and started tearing at Hotch’s shirt buttons. He found he was unable to concentrate on even that small of a task, not with the distraction of Hotch’s thick, strong fingers curling and thrusting inside him. Reid gave up on the shirt buttons. His trembling hands fell to Hotch’s waist, his buckle, his pants. 

“Slow down there, partner,” Aaron crooned. Reid was panting hard, desperate, anxious, needy. He tugged Hotch’s shirt off over his head, settling on a place to bite, a place to suck his mark into Aaron’s flesh. Hotch entered Reid roughly, more than anxious in his own right. Spencer called out as they melded into each other. Hotch called out too, but for an entirely different reason. 

“Oh damn! Cold floor… cold floor….” Hotch whispered, pulling out of Reid, leaving the doctor looking dazed and a bit desperate. Aaron grabbed one of the kitchen chairs, and sat in it, tugging Spencer down into his lap. They slid back together easily, Reid’s knees spread wide of Hotch’s lap. Aaron moaned wantonly in Spencer’s ear, nibbling his earlobe, hips finding room, making room, spreading Reid’s thin legs apart further with each thrust. Hotch’s jeans jangled noisily around his ankles. His buckle scraped on the tiles. 

“Sorry. Damn….cold….floor…..” Hotch was gasping. Reid gave a tiny giggle, balancing his arms on Hotch’s shoulders as they slipped and slid together.

“….hate…this…blue…” Spencer whispered. Hotch bit him on the side of his neck, turning those teasing, sharp words into whimpers of pleasure with rough upward thrusts. Aaron dug his hands and fingers hard into Spencer’s hips, holding him, guiding him, owning him. The feet of the chair jumped and skipped with each snap of Hotch’s hips. 

Spencer was close, so close, and Hotch knew now to follow the sounds he was making, to narrow in on them. He nipped once more at Reid’s neck, not caring who would see these marks later and what they might wonder. Spencer’s hips were shaking, his thighs quivering. He inhaled to scream out. Hotch clasped a hand quickly over Reid’s mouth. Spencer bit down on his fingers, chewing, sucking, slurping, moaning, pushing himself frantically onto his lover. Hotch thought at the last second to drop a kitchen towel into Reid’s lap. His own loud shouts of ecstasy were echoing back to him in his head as he and Reid snuggled together tightly in the one small chair. 

“Mmm….that was…..nice…..” Spencer mumbled sleepily, bumping noses, stealing a sloppy kiss. "We better… um… you know… shower?” he suggested, climbing awkwardly off Hotch’s lap, dabbing at his messy self. Aaron stumbled to his feet and fumbled with his jeans. He pulled his shirt off the floor and wrestled into it. Spencer slithered back into his long nightshirt, and worked his way up the buttons. Hotch winced, examining the teeth dents in his left index and middle finger. 

“Ouch,” Aaron muttered, whacking Spencer playfully on the nearest hip. 

“Did you know that human saliva is one of the most toxic substances on the planet?” Reid chirped helpfully. He quickly washed his hands in the sink, and dropped the pelmeni into the boiling water. Hotch set a timer. 

“Shower,” Hotch commanded, taking Reid by the hand and tugging him along. They leaned on each other for support when they got to the stairs. 

 

 


	10. Duty Calls

Hotch was dozing, not sleeping, not dreaming, all the while with this terrible nagging feeling that he had forgotten something important.

Was there a phone ringing somewhere? He glanced at the one on the nightstand. It wasn’t making any noise. 

Reid and Hotch had made it to the shower. Afterwards, instead of getting dressed in regular clothes or clean pajamas, Reid had slipped back into his slightly-grungy nightshirt and his hat and boots. He began joking about finding a lasso for his wild mustang. Hotch grinned at the memory. 

There was definitely a phone ringing somewhere. Maybe the one on the nightstand had been turned off? 

They fed each other lunch in bed, after finding clean sheets. The joke about the lasso had inevitably led to Hotch tying Reid to their bed, and teasing him into a desperate frenzy, which had led to even more quick and nasty sex. They had both been so exhausted afterwards that sleep had been foremost in their minds. That had been right before the great nap Hotch was waking up from.

Was the answering machine not going to pick up that phone?

Spencer moaned softly from underneath Aaron. Hotch raised up from the cushion of Reid’s abdomen. His lover, his husband, was making strange faces in his slumber. It was amazing that he could sleep at all, the way he was sprawled out to the length and breadth of their bed. There was a stretch of thin, light rope attached to one wrist. Hotch hoped Reid didn’t have any bruises or muscle tears. They might be hard to explain to his physical therapist. He wanted to untie the bit of rope on Reid's wrist, but first, Aaron had other plans. He licked the closest patch of skin, the hollow of Reid’s left hip, lavished his naked skin lovingly. 

The phone was definitely ringing again downstairs. Aaron glanced towards the clock – 2:15 p.m. 

Strauss. 

A cold chill washed over Hotch for a moment, but only a moment. 

Hotch moved slowly up Reid’s splayed body, placing a kiss to the side of his sternum, right on the mole that he loved. Reid snuffled in his sleep, turning his head to the other side, resting his cheek on his outstretched arm. Aaron sat up carefully, admiring the lines of Reid’s arms and legs. His muscles were completely lax, and he was utterly defenseless, and utterly beautiful. So perfect. So lovely. 

Hotch nosed one nipple, teased it with the tip of his tongue, sucked it between his lips, drew on it slowly. Reid moaned in his sleep, his cock twitching against Hotch’s stomach. Aaron reached over and snagged the bottle of fruit-scented lube off the side table. Was that raspberry or strawberry? He couldn’t decide, and he didn’t care. 

He worked his fingers carefully between Reid’s spread thighs, up under his balls, slowly back, gently inserting his middle finger to the hilt. He watched Reid’s sleeping mouth open slightly, watched his eyelids move but not open. Happy pleasure bloomed on Reid’s face. He bucked in sleep, mouthing Hotch’s name. Aaron smiled, and inserted another finger, stretching gently. It was hardly necessary. They were both going to need another shower soon. Spencer was moaning again, working his hips vaguely. Aaron was sucking his other nipple, leaving saliva and faint bruises in his wake. 

“Hotch? Hotch?” Spencer whispered urgently in his dreams. 

Hotch nestled comfortably between Reid's legs, sliding himself inside Spencer's body, feeling his heartbeat inside and out. Aaron loved how their hips formed the perfect puzzle together, how Reid’s thighs parted to make the exact amount of room for him, how Reid’s body hair teased against his skin as they moved together. Spencer mumbled softly, and his legs shifted. Booted feet wrapped loosely up against Aaron’s back. Hotch latched onto Reid’s neck, sucking. His hands slid easily down under Spencer’s arched back, along his spine. Hotch rocked in and out of his dozing lover, slowly, easily. He was balanced so that their point of contact would be their connection together. He summoned the best 'porn star' moan out of Reid, and almost dropped him out of sheer surprise. That was not a sound Reid normally made. 

Hotch lifted Reid’s pliant body to a better angle, and his next thrust brought Spencer wide awake, eyes fluttering, groaning out. Aaron snatched up a pillow and pushed it under Reid’s arched hips. Western boots clashed with one another as Spencer wiggled against him. The boots dropped to the bed, and Reid arched up for Hotch. Spencer's long arms went up around Hotch's back, short nails clinging into his shoulders. Aaron kept his pace maddeningly slow and gentle. 

Spencer’s moans grew to groans, then into babbling gasps as he rocked his hips, clenching his thighs and his ass, struggling desperately to make Hotch move faster, push harder, go deeper. All sense of reason was gone. Hotch was driving him slowly into a frenzy again. Spencer was thrashing and shaking, begging again. 

Hotch sat up, lay down back against the bed, and drew Reid up into his lap, over his thighs. Spencer didn’t need to be told twice what to do. He was down over Hotch on all fours, panting as his hips were pumping up and down. He fucked himself expertly on Aaron’s hard length, a litany of blue words falling from his innocent lips. 

Hotch watched Reid beneath hooded eyes, taking Spencer’s hips in hand again, lining up his fingers with previous imprints, guiding him up and down, up and down. Reid’s fingers scrambled around for Hotch’s shoulders, his chest, his hair. Aaron caught one hand by the length of rope that dangled from Reid's wrist. He kissed Spencer's fingers. He sucked on one, then two, nipping delicately at them, slurping along and between them, pulling them in and out of his mouth.

That did it. Who would have ever thought that Reid’s hands were his most sensitive body parts? Spencer’s head fell back, and he shouted Hotch’s name over and over. Aaron grabbed the nearest sheet corner to save himself from what would surely have been a very messy face-splashing. Hotch took in the vision of Reid riding him, mouth open, eyes closed tightly, knees folded up against the sides of Hotch’s chest, thin hips wiggling and thumping and bouncing as the waves of pleasure wracked his body. That was all Hotch needed. He filled Reid with his own climax, and drifted back into heavenly bliss for a few seconds. 

Hotch woke to feel Reid panting against his cheek, teeth scoring his earlobe. 

“If that damn phone… doesn’t stop ringing….” Spencer swore. 

“Strauss,” Hotch murmured blissfully. 

Reid stopped nibbling. He raised up over Hotch, peering down at him.

“Strauss?” he questioned nervously.

“You’re supposed to call her.”

“When?” 

“After two,” Aaron replied. Reid sat roughly on Hotch’s middle, and craned back to stare at the clock. 

“It’s two-thirty-seven,” Spencer observed dryly. 

“Yeah,” Hotch grinned. 

“Should I call her now, do you think?” Reid asked. 

“Tell her you were tied up and couldn’t get to the phone,” Aaron rumbled, rubbing Spencer’s long thighs. 

“What does she want?” Reid wondered, nosing a kiss to Hotch’s mouth. 

“To bury you in a quiet desk job, far far away from the BAU.” 

“Oh, I see,” Reid replied, fear flaring in his eyes. 

“Don’t you fret, Doc,” Hotch drawled. “I got this covered, a’right?”

Reid slipped over to the side of the bed, stroking Hotch’s bare side. 

“You should get in the shower. We have to pick up Jack in twenty minutes,” Reid commanded. 

“No sleep?” Hotch moaned. 

Reid pulled the phone on the nightstand out of its cradle, and started punching numbers while he eyeballed Aaron most sharply.

“Assistant Director Erin Strauss, please. This is Supervisory Special Agent Dr. Spencer Reid,” Spencer murmured smoothly. He paused. Hotch toed him tenderly in the side with one bare foot, pulling himself upright, nestling against Reid’s back and tossing his legs around the outline of Reid’s legs. He cloaked himself around Reid and held on tight. 

Reid drove all five short, sharp nails of his left hand into Hotch’s thigh to keep Aaron from nibbling on the nape of his neck as they waited for Strauss to answer. 

“Dr. Reid?! I’ve been trying to reach you for nearly an hour,” Strauss scolded when she came on the line. 

“Madame Director. I apologize for the delay in returning your call. Agent Hotchner said me you wanted to sleep with me?” Reid murmured. 

Hotch caught his breath and froze as tight as a statue. He knew he could not laugh, but it was a very close battle. 

“Speak with me,” Reid corrected himself, turning as red as Hotch had ever seen him turn. 

“Of course. Yes,” Strauss said grimly. 

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Dr. Reid, I need to speak with you in person. It’s vitally important that we discuss your return to the Bureau, and in what capacity you wish to serve.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I will take you to lunch on Thursday. A late lunch. Two p.m.?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Pick a restaurant that you like. Email me later. Dr. Reid, I’m warning you. Don’t be late.”

“No, ma’am. I will not be late.”

“Enjoy the rest of your day, Dr. Reid.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Reid said. 

The line disconnected. Reid’s hands were shaking so hard that he could barely place the phone into the cradle. He sat back again in Hotch’s arms, balling up, wanting to hide. He crossed his legs one over the other, and rubbed his forehead with his fingers. It was then that Reid realized he had a bit of rope on his wrist. He tugged absently at the knot. Aaron kissed him tenderly on the shoulder, and helped him undo the rope. He could hear and feel Reid’s heart racing as he nuzzled his long neck.

“Did I actually say what I think I said?” Spencer asked. 

“Yep,” Hotch chirped. 

“Oh my god,” Reid moaned, hiding his face in his hands. 

Hotch snickered a wet snort against Reid’s freckled shoulder, tossing the length of rope to the floor with the others.


	11. Field Study

It was late evening on Monday before Hotch got a chance to check the personal emails on his home computer. He sighed happily and stretched in his desk chair, twisting and turning his neck and shoulders to release the knots in his deliciously-sore muscles. 

Reid was far across the study, fingering the stick pins in a map of Colorado, Utah, and Nevada. He would limp back to the double desk every few minutes, to check hand-written figures on a page there, before quietly returning to the map to ponder whatever thoughts were roaming through his head. He was leaving his cane against the side of the desk and limping back and forth – which Hotch took as a very good sign. Not the limping, but the fact Reid was not relying on his cane. 

The ‘new email’ signal pinged, and Hotch let his eyes run through the list that popped up. He paused, narrowed his gaze, and sat back in his chair.

“Reid?” Aaron called out.

“Yes?” Reid replied, his eyes fixed on the map. 

“Did you take care of that speeding ticket we’re not supposed to talk about?” Hotch tested out a smile.

“Yes. I paid it on Friday,” Spencer replied crisply, not happy to be reminded of the topic or the ticket either one. 

“Hmm,” Hotch hummed. 

“ 'Hmm', what?” Reid asked, walking slowly from the map to the desk, coming around to Hotch’s side and leaning over his shoulder. “Oh, that,” he chuckled nervously when he saw the email which had startled Hotch. 

“Why is there a five hundred thirty-two dollars and eighty-five cent charge on one of the credit cards?" Hotch asked.

“You weren’t supposed to notice that,” Reid mused. “Erase it from your mind. It’s a secret. A surprise.”

“A surprise?”

“Jack and I are building. Something special for your birthday. Pretend you never saw that.”

“My birthday isn’t until May, and I thought we agreed not to buy each other lavish and extravagant gifts.”

“This is not lavish. This is a very practical and useful gift. Some would even say 'necessary',” Reid offered, biting his mouth together to keep from smiling. 

Aaron watched the humor in Spencer’s face, and was left wondering. Hotch clicked on a link, and waited for the website to load. He scanned the new page, and put a hand on Reid’s hand on the desk.

“What are you two building which involves backpacks, flashlights, machetes, screwdrivers, and flamethrowers?”

“They're not flamethrowers,” Reid defended. “They are all-weather, fire-starter sticks. Although, with the proper tubing and a means by which to eject and propel them, I suppose they could be used to throw sparks, if not actual flames…..” Reid’s words and thoughts trailed away. He was obviously pondering the technical aspects of such a scenario. "Maybe we could do a field study? Ohhhh," he murmured, eyes growing bright with excitement. 

“Are you’re buying camping gear for me?” Hotch wondered, amused and worried at the same time. 

“Err…..kinda?” Reid fibbed. 

“That’s so cute,” Hotch laughed. "There is hope for you yet!" 

Reid’s rumpled smile piqued Hotch’s curiosity, and his libido. Alas, they had spent part of the morning and much of the afternoon rolling around naked together in various places around the house, celebrating Hotch’s return home from Savannah and also their recent exchange of wedding vows. Neither Hotch nor Reid would be up for any more fun and games tonight. All they were going to manage was a goodnight kiss and some serious snuggling, and maybe another chapter or two in the books that Hotch had brought back for Reid. 

“I should stop asking. I want to be surprised,” Aaron decided, closing the laptop and pulling Spencer into his arms. 

“You will be surprised,” Reid nodded quickly, biting back another smile.


End file.
